The Art Of Lying
by Assassin For Hire
Summary: 3/30/2003 - CHAP THREE UP. :) Lana Lang attempts to rein in Clark Kent at the Talon when she finds herself suddenly becoming Girl, Interrupted...
1. The Art of Lying

**The Art of Lying  
**by Krista Cabanas and Josh McPherson

**Disclaimer:** _Smallville_ is copyright Warner Bros. Krista wrote for luscious Lana, while Josh handled Mr. Hotpants. We'd like your reviews!  
  
  
The Talon. A young evening. The waitress behind the chrome-style counter was busy serving a double latte to her latest customer. A friend, really. Everyone here in the cafe was. Smallville was hardly the metropolitan hotspot; these people were familiar, regulars. And despite the attention afforded her, Lana thought herself absolutely normal. Her favorite hemp shirt, her dark jeans, her hair in a work-mode ponytail. Oh yeah. Real supermodel material there. She spied a dark form approaching her way. Good old Clark. The height advantage thing really was something he excelled at... She kept her eyes on the customer in front of her. "Extra foam?"  
  
Clark shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his blue jacket, making his way step after step toward the counter, lifting his shoulders just that inch as he came near to the counter. The pose gave him a somewhat momentary look of insecurity as he simply watched without saying anything, waiting for Lana to come available to talk to once she had finished serving the customer. Of course, every so often he'd glance about the Talon, almost as though he'd be expecting trouble, or some sort of Monster of the Week to pop up, like what happened on every episode on that _ Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ show.  
  
Lana eyed Clark warily. He was doing that thing of his again. Perching. The departing customer was served a smile before Lana neared her silent visitor - or was that admirer? her conscience nabbed at her. She folded her hands neatly on the counter. "Clark." Chipper and naive. She was incurably bouncy, really... "Ten minutes before schedule." Lana eyed her watch discreetly. "You know, these visits of yours never fail to surprise me in their spontaneity or ambiguity." A smile spread on her face, embarrassed, if not in an attempt to cut down on her sarcasm. It wasn't like her. "What's up?"  
  
Clark tilted his head as he opened his mouth to speak, edging that nearer to the counter, keeping a very casual tone in his voice. "I just wanted to know if you perhaps wanted an escort home tonight once your shift was done... And if you did I was going to offer myself as the escort..." His face seemed to soften from any serious look as that wide smile crossed his face, trying to hide any tension he had about waiting for Lana's response.  
  
Lana swiped the counter board up and made her way to the tables, toting warm drinks on a round tray. Waitressing wasn't a glamorous job, but she took pride in it. There was something absolutely relieving about abandoning her Calculus textbook in the kitchen and putting the apron on around her waist after school. She came home with tired feet and an aching back, but a feeling in her gut like she'd just completed a productive day. And that's exactly what she was all about. Getting things done. Getting to the heart of the matte--hmm. Lana stopped just short of an incredulous laugh, her green eyes fixed on Clark. Sometimes, she really couldn't tell if he was being serious or not... The mystery that was Clark Kent. Even the answer eluded her. "I'll be fine," she insisted. And she will be, it was just that... what was he really trying to get at? "Besides, the _least_ you could do during these unannounced visits of yours is to buy a _drink_. I'm beginning to think you're caffeine-intolerant..." A nearby patron chuckled at the young woman as she handed him her drink.  
  
Clark continued to grin as he listened to her response. He blinked down at the warm drinks she was serving to the patrons before inquiring: "You wouldn't happen to serve just plain milk by chance, would you?" Clark's grin started to fade slightly as he looked across the room toward a table. A man and woman were having a seemingly heated argument. The man soon then got up and left in quite a state that wouldn't be considered polite in the least, but Clark turned his attention back to Lana. Besides, it was just a couple fighting. It wasn't a situation that needed the help of Clark's gifts.  
  
Lana maintained eye contact with the boy for a moment, seemingly reading the look in his eyes. She was almost glad Whitney wasn't around. "The thing about you, Clark..." Lana began, as she was given an anxious look from a fellow barista who needed her help, then a bump from the fleeing, incensed woman, "is that you have the -uncanny- compulsion to be here when it's peak hour." She grinned, winningly, knowing no other way to act around one of the best friends she's had since kindergarten, and approached the tiny glass refrigerator behind the bar. A carton of 2% was opened and poured into a glass. "In the crazy hope that you'll reach seven feet before the year's over," she humored dryly, handing the glass over to him.

Clark took the glass with a smile. "And the thing about you Lana, is that you always seem to make me smile. Even when you're completely swamped with customers." He took a very light sip from the glass and turned to glance over the patrons once more. It was true though. He preferred to turn up here at peak hour. If there was trouble in Smallville, it was always best to check the places that were often swamped with customers. Even though it was a long shot, Clark didn't want to take chances with letting people get hurt. He wondered just how he had turned his secret 'Protector Over Smallville' role into a hobby, but considering his chores on the farm took him only 5 minutes to do on a good day, he had to fill his time with something. Unfortunately it often meant he'd end up being near meteor rocks.  
  
Lana's elbows lifted off the counter and she lightly pulled away. Hrm. The color rising to her cheeks were kicked back down to submission. She wasn't about to let the boy affect her. Not tonight. Her conscience was unmerciful, even - _Remember who you're talking to_. Lana, thankfully, was naturally gifted in the art of subtlety. She shrugged off the comment, her thumbs slung on the belt hooks of her jeans. "Right..." Her gaze followed a passing waiter, just to have something to look at. "Just don't let my customers in on that, got it? They'd never believe rumors of Lana Lang hating her job." When she returned her gaze to Clark's smile, the red in her cheeks were completely gone. She was unshakable too, you know. She could act unphased. She could pretend.   
  
Clark placed the glass gently back down on the counter, then started to fumble with his hands. He reached into the pocket of his faded blue jeans. "How much do I owe you for this?" he replied, slightly nodding to the milk even though it was obvious what he was referring to when he spoke. But then he felt something else. His chest had a sudden pain, like it was hard to breathe, while at the same time his stomach started to feel like it was crushed in a vice. His legs slightly began to wobble. Even his vision began to blur slightly. Glancing down at his hands, Clark noticed his veins starting to become more defined and green. The color on his hand changed. Most people wouldn't notice upon a glance but if they took a hard look and knew what they were looking for, they'd certainly notice the change. Clark's face itself began to pale, almost as though he was about ready to hurl.  
  
Lana frowned instantly, with full suspicion. But then, there was a ring on the telephone. An incessant one, in fact, and no one around Lana was looking to answer it. She hesitated, her feet dancing privately just behind the counter before she shuffled over to the phone and rather lifted it unkindly off its cradle. The look on Clark's face at the unwanted interruption--argh. "Hello?" Her greeting was hurried. Lana stopped herself short of crying out bloody murder, hearing the voice at the end of the line. "Whitney..." And her voice suddenly grew private. She physically turned herself away from Clark and swept black locks behind an ear, her hand discreetly covering the phone conversation. "Whitney, this is a _really_ bad time..." Her boyfriend was upset, confused at the other end of the line, but Lana covered the receiver with her hand and returned her attention on Clark anyway. "Clark, are you alright?" You simply don't ignore someone who was obviously in pain, best friend or not. "Clark--" she repeated, louder, more urgent. Lana tried to bring herself forward but found the phone line leashing her back instead. She nodding her head along at Whitney, but kept her narrowed eyes were dead set on the strange occurrence in front of her. She tried to act as discreetly about the matter as possible, not wanting to attract attention to the counter. "Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. Of course. Mm-hmm. Look, Whitney, I'll call you back." Click. She froze. Clark would explain. He had better...  
  
Clark barely lifted a hand to assure Lana that he was okay. His voice seemed to croak as he replied, "I'm fine, just need some air." Even though the illness of being near a meteor rock was weakening his strength, he managed to drop some change on the counter for the drink and then turned hurriedly. Trying to avoid an explanation, he almost limped towards the exit. It was amazing he didn't fall over, considering the way he lurched toward the door, almost like a wild animal was chewing at his leg. No matter where he was in the Talon, the sensation of the meteor rock was everywhere. He had to get outside before he passed out.  
  
Lana found it took all her aunt's lessons about being respectful in life not to knock down the bevy of customers blocking her way from the entrance. She dumped her apron near the register and calmly--excruciatingly--muscled her small frame through the crowd. "Clark!" she called out, but his footsteps were quick. "Clark!" she tried again, dismissively smiling at an entering customer, before taking her turn out the door. Her face was a veritable Van Gogh painting--roiling with emotions. "You were supposed to walk me home!" she blurted aloud, frowning worriedly into the night. Traffic at its normal pace. The stars out. Strangers walking through the clean sidewalks. A young, beautiful evening. But though she desperately searched around every dark corner and intersection for her favorite customer, Lana Lang's shoulders slumped in disappointment anyhow. Clark Kent was nowhere to be found.

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Just a small writing exercise. Hope you liked it. :)


	2. Uninvited

**"Uninvited"**  
by kabanas and David Barnes 

  
  
Author's note: I'm posting this continuation of sorts because of the demand for it. :) Unfortunately, Josh, the guy who wrote for Clark in the previous story, disappeared off the face of the earth so I was forced to find a replacement. I found it in David. Hope you guys like this one and that you'll overlook the strange flow. (It was first written for roleplay.) Anyway. David and I would both appreciate your comments. :)

  
**The Talon. Two days later.**

Lana Lang. High school dream girl. Silky raven hair, calculating green eyes, flawless skin, spritely smile, petite frame. Excommunicated cheerleader. Reading and astronomy enthusiast. A bit of a conundrum, really. And yet, despite the winning charisma afforded her, Lana felt no different from anyone else when the bell rang, and classes ended, and she put on the apron. Every ounce of energy left unspoiled by school was spent into waitressing for her co-owned cafe with Lex Luthor. The Talon gave her something to look forward to at night, as nerdy as it sounds.

Smallville wasn't exactly Metropolis as far exciting evening options went; Lana had strictly kept within her small town borders all her life. Which wasn't to say she wasn't a bright or worldly girl. In fact, Lana had always been a defiant one of sorts, being the cheerleader with brains, the beauty who buried her nose in books and Scientific American journals. Even now, as she prepared a few cappuccinos for customers, Lana intermittently returned to her copy of National Geographic sitting on the counter, flipping the page once per turn. She was so consumed with reading about modern day seppuku in Japan, in fact, that she failed to see who had strolled in through the door.

Clark Kent. The epitome of mystery. He was nothing but your average boy -- on the outside, that is. A good, solid name around school. The so-called "perfect family", to boot. And of course, a healthy obsession with the dark waitress standing just behind the counter with a magazine lightly clasped in her hands. 

Dimples popped inward as Clark made his way towards the cheerleader, locks of his dark hair brushing his light eyes. He wore his trademarked yellow work boots and his long-sleeved collar shirt with its green sleeves and bottom tucked neatly into crisp blue jeans. A naïve baby face gave way to a solid chest, given to him by working day-by-day on the farm. A dream job? No. But it wasn't bad. Besides, it added to his benign morale. Slipping onto a silver stool, Clarked leaned his elbow onto the counter and propped up his chin with both hands.

"Which part of Africa are they advertising?"

Ex-cheerleader, that is. It only took Lana a matter of days before failingly seeing the point of being a high school sex symbol, and after the 'pep-talk' with her aunt, the girl quit squad. Not exactly a heartbreaking decision, but Lana kept fit in other ways. (Horseback riding being one of her more beloved passions.) And at least she could say to herself that she had given the pseudo-sport a chance.

Lana felt a smile lift on her face unchecked, which she quickly hid from the boy.

"Japan, thank you. And teenage suicide in Japan is nothing to joke about, especially given the alarming rate it's happening nowadays."

She raised long, amused lashes and fixed her gaze at him in greeting.

"Clark. Can I get you the usual 2% milk or are you alternating with decaffeinated mint tea tonight?"

And to think. She had waited until high school to take pleasure in throwing down on the boy when they had been neighbors all their lives. Lana schooled her face to a more innocent countenance, and with her white tanktop beneath a cream-colored hemp shirt, she looked quite angelic in her attempt. Without even trying, Lana conveyed the essence of innocence.

Clark's roguish grin fell and he slipped his hands in his pockets, kicking himself for the comment on Africa. 'Dummydummydummy'. Alright, so he wasn't the smoothest person around. He was brought up on a farm, for chrissakes. Driving an old red truck and hanging around cows all day didn't make him Rico Suave.

"Wow. I think my ego just dropped. Gimme the mocha latte. I don't feel like sleeping tonight, anyway."

A small smile seemed to lighten his face, though, regardless of the dark locks that framed his visage. Lana was helpless to a sickening sense of regret at the tease. Though not exactly vocal about his feelings, Clark's emotions were readily worn on his sleeve and Lana was usually quick in noticing the slightest bit of red coloring his cheeks. It made her feel bad for a second. But then again, it was a gift Clark was blessed with just as easily when it came to her. Her guilt disappeared. Lifting off the table, Lana set to foaming some milk at once and frowned suspiciously with her back to him.

"Third time in a row I've heard that this week. Not coming down with something, are you?"

Weight tilted to one side, she was plainly a pretty sight in her dark rinse bootcuts, despite that she was of a rather short and forgettable stature. Her black bangs were neatly pulled back from her eyes and held in place with a simple bamboo clip.

"Cause if it's insomnia you're fighting off, mocha's not the way to go about it."

Grin. His order was daintily placed on a porcelain cup and slid over to him, the magazine covered, and for now, set aside and forgotten. He was no Rico Suave, certainly, but she had never been into the type.

Clark cupped his hands around the latte to collect its heat. How was he supposed to answer to Lana's suspicion? He'd sound paranoid if he explained that he had this constantly nagging feeling in the back of his head that if he were to go to sleep, he wouldn't be there to protect his family...if someone, or something, were to attack. Yeah. Paranoid would be a good word to describe it.

"Yes, but what I have in mind is illegal to sell to minors. Besides, I'll probably drink half of this, go home, climb up to the loft and pass out on the couch. You'd think the smell of hay wouldn't be much of a sleep incentive, but it puts me out every time I sprawl out on the couch and...I'm rambling, aren't I?"

Shaking his head with an embarrassed chuckle, the boy carefully held the porcelain cup to his lips as he began to sip hastily. One too many times had Lana increased the temperature of the latte, resulting in a burnt tongue and a Kent who couldn't speak for half a week. Thank God she had gotten the hang of that machine; it was probably a collective appreciation shared by all of Smallville's java addicts and businessmen.

And one too many times had Clark risen the temperature in the -room-. Lana eyed her favorite customer dourly.

"I couldn't stop you if I tried," she offered patronizingly, though meaning well. There was something absolutely amazing about Clark. Perhaps it was that aura of goodness forever circling his head, perhaps it was his more elusive charm. Whatever it was, Lana wasn't about to admit that she found him hopelessly intriguing... For as much and as often Clark talked about himself, he spoke little of his childhood or the more private moments in his life. In fact, she couldn't remember a time when he willingly talked about his past with her... Maybe he was more open with Chloe? Hmm... Lana wasn't one to pry, though.

At the mention of hay, she paid more attention to his smell. 'Don't!' her conscience barked at her. Right. Don't. Smelling wasn't a good idea. Especially with a guy who's scent was as intriguing as his persona and who perpetually watched her like a hawk. Lana folded her arms and shrugged her shoulders, then rested her elbows along the counter. Expressive to the max.

"Though, only you could find some semblance of aromatherapy in hay."

Ooh. Snarky wench.

"Speaking of which--"

And here, she raised a dark brow at him in accusation.

"--When do I get my invitation over to the bachelor pad?"

The boy had been talking about his newfound sense of freedom in his barn-room so much that she felt it was about damn time he opened the place up for public scrutiny.

Clark chuckled helplessly. He was always one to find Lana's words nothing short of amusing. Sometimes condescending, but nonetheless amusing. He knew he gave everyone too much to wonder about; he could feel Lana trying to pick him apart, trying to separate his vagueness from his inner core. He couldn't blame her. As hard as he fought to keep his secret, he should've been christened 'The Mystery known as Clark Kent'.

Having a mouth that usually refrained from saying the right thing at the wrong time, he was surprised himself how long he had kept such a befuddling secret within his immediate family. Like that time he baked the café? A slip-up. But nothing was said about it, even if he was almost arrested.

Rather shocked by Lana's interest in paying his loft a visit, Clark ran her words over again in his mind and wondered how to take it. Thinking with the right head, he responded smoothly with, "The brazen Lana Lang needing an invitation to my loft? Since when has this stopped you from coming over? Right. Never, to my account."

Glancing down at his watch, a wince contorted Clark's features.

"Goodnight, Lana," he added, looking back up to her with more lifeless eyes. Taking a last sip of the latte, he swiveled around and slipped off his seat, disappearing out the door with that unassuming swagger of his. All that was left behind was the correct amount of change, with tip, and a small sliver of paper with writing on it. Cheesily, it read:

'Open invitation to Clark's haven.'

Hrrrrn. Insolent boy. Blame it on Chloe for driving him away. The girl's sharp tongue had been rubbing off on Lana as of late, after the two girls recently buried the unspoken tension between them and began hanging out more often this semester. They had discovered a sense of sisterhood over their mutual superhero. Clark. At least, that was how they privately saw him, whether they admitted it to themselves or not.

Lana had particularly seen enough bizarre activity from the boy to be suspicious, though for someone who had known him most of his life, his strangeness was easy to overlook. Didn't explain the fact that he could seemingly be two places at once, though. And yet, it remained one of his more endearing traits. Argh.

"Since you stopped inviting me over!" Lana humored, insistently calling after him.

It was true. He never invited her over unless she asked. Clark Kent had another thing coming if he was about mistake her for some girl who visited people's houses unannounced. Unlike certain -mysterious boys- who visited her at the cafe every night, she was mindful of people's private space. Not one to impose her presence on others. Still, for someone of a relatively passive temperament and an even quieter presence, Lana shone in the crowd like Venus de Milo in her chrome-countered half shell. It was the smile, really. The smile she now readily equipped as he turned to leave.

"Expect me over tomorrow," she grinned winningly, sealing the date.

Lana's gaze failed to leave his figure until he was thoroughly out of the spiral doors. As she moved to pick up his money, her touch fell upon the piece of paper he had left behind. Her brows pursed in amusement. His chicken scratch handwriting was just like him. Lana shook her head. 

"I'm so peeved I could kiss you."

But Clark wasn't around to hear her.

  
  


**The End...for now. :)**


	3. Strong and Forgiving

**"Strong and Forgiving"**  
by Kabanas and David Barnes 

  
Disclaimer: We've decided to do away with all continuity so we could set our chapters to whatever timeline we wanted. That means this fic is now officially a 'compilation' of different stories, instead of an ongoing novel.

To start you off, here's our take on Whitney's disappearance. It's different from canon. Enjoy. :)

  
  
Few ever caught Lana Lang with anything less than a pleasant smile for company, but this particular morning, despite the sunshine and dreamy clouds forever dotting the town of Smallville, the young woman wore an immovable expression -- one of solemnity and unamusement. It had been no less than twenty-four hours since she heard news from Whitney's mother that the boy was missing in action, and little made sense in her head at the moment. Her tiny figure sat atop her favorite rock, overlooking the cliff that was fenced outside of her barn. Her white palamino was gently tied to a post a few feet behind her, but otherwise, she was alone. At least...so the wind would have her believe, when she picked up the faint sound of footsteps crunching down on the low blades of grass. Lana kept her attention forward, eyeing the crevice gaping before her and the trees up ahead. She knew who was coming before Clark even uttered a greeting.

It wasn't hard to pick up on a Kent footstep. They were deliberate, powerful, yet with no intentions of waking anyone near or disturbing even the slightest being. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he prepared for a long silence. Lana was not much to talk about things once she was aware of them. It took her hours, days, weeks, to even confront Clark with the feelings she kept caged.

"I... just heard about Whitney..."

He would not say he was sorry; he knew she was the type to easily get sick of people apologizing for things they did not take part in.

"You can't expect the worst, Lana. If you do, you'll go crazy by sundown."

There was discreet movement -- Lana wiping old tears that formed above her right cheek. There was that embarrassed chuckle of hers, the one that knew all too well when she had been caught in a purely unladylike moment. But this was no stranger come to disturb her contemplation. Just the guy she had known since kindergarten.

"Yeah well, that's difficult when a girl doesn't even know what to believe in anymore, isn't it?"

She was vaguely smiling, but with lips that were taut and hiding back her anger. Her words were a clear attack on Clark, for hiding things from her all week -- hell, all her life -- but she just wanted one more reason to be angry at the world right now with shameless abandon. She was only really blaming Clark because he was the nearest target.

Lana moved naught, fixed in her stony posture, but there remained an empty seat on the rock next to her for him to share anyway.

"How'd you find me?" she straightened suddenly, trying for a more casual composure. Lana Lang. Ever adept at appearing cool and aloof despite his presence.

Eyeing the empty spot, Clark took his respectable seat beside her. His large form overtook hers, making her look more of like a huddling form. He knew she was still confused about him and Kyla. Well, maybe not confused. No matter how much she tried to downplay her feelings, he knew she was somewhat hurt by it. And, by all means, those were not his intentions. He would never intentionally hurt Lana. But now, even though a tinge of blame tainted her every word, he pushed it aside to try and find what she was really feeling; which was a feat.

"I've seen you back here a couple of times. I guess I was too intimidated to say anything. You looked so content and in your own world that I didn't want to interrupt you. But now... I guess it's best for you to have someone around. Because the more time you spend without loved ones, the more time your mind begins to drift. And our minds do terrible things to us."

Dr. Clark Kent, if you presume. Hmm. Someone knew -too well- how to make her feel better. Despite this, Lana tried her very best to fend him off. She was in no mood to be reminded of her own confusion right now, but then again... when were things -never- confusing around this boy?

"I remember the last thing Whitney said to me before he left," Lana continued, finally giving Clark a brief but meaningful glance before she turned her gaze back to the trees across the other side of the cliff. "I don't know. I guess I just believed him when he promised me he would return."

She leaned forward and peeled off the annoying black bangs that the wind blew across her light gray eyes. Her emotions usually dictated her attire and it showed this morning. For now, she took in the summer breeze in a simple white baby tee, black shorts, and black thong sandals.

It was hard for Clark to look Lana in her tear-trodden eyes. Lana was always such a strength for him, whether she knew it or not. That always seemed to make it hard when the tables were turned, but he stood his ground even when Lana attempted to lay all the world's blame on his shoulders. It was her own defense mechanism. Blame the closest person near you; and 9 out of 10 times it was Clark. After all, if it made her feel better, he would carry the weight just for her. 

But then again, that was Clark Kent; save the world first, then worry about yourself.

"Lana, you're telling me this as if you know exactly what's happened to him. But you don't. And I know you don't want anyone telling you this, but you have to look on the other side of things."

His pretty audience huffed in the middle of his monologue and stood, just to be away from him. Her version of conceding defeat. It took Lana a few moments to suppress the growing frustration that was indignantly welling up inside her again before she could form a fair response.

Her raven hair was gathered in clumps -- a girl's standard reaction to heartache, stress, and nosy boys. She let her arms fall to her side. She knew she must've come across as the most selfish person in town at the moment, but God help her. She was scared. Scared of never seeing Whitney again. Scared that she had ended that relationship without having properly made atones with the boy.

"Shot. Wounded. Missing is missing. His body was never accounted for. Tell me some of the possibilities that I haven't triple-checked all morning, Clark."

Harsh. Too harsh. Lana bit her tongue and ceased her childish bickering for just a moment, to turn around and regard the tall figure behind her carefully. He was holding up a helluvalot better than she clearly was. 

"Are -you- okay?"

She wasn't about to pretend that Kyla hadn't meant anything to him.

Lana was scared. It wasn't too hard to pick up on; or maybe he just knew her too well. 'Captured, lost, tortured, disoriented, passed out'...he wasn't about to fill Lana's mind with those possibilities. He'd like to have at least one friend left with an ounce of sanity. Next question. 

Turning towards the edge of the cliff he looks out at it, running a hand through his tousled locks. Turn it around on him. Does it always come down to this, anyway? It was inevitable.

"I've been better, but I've also been worse."

Play it off. Get on a new subject, for chrissakes. And don't crack, either. Damn she's good.

And suddenly, it was Lana's turn to stare. She took it quite seriously when he turned his back on her, and used this moment to finally return back down to earth where she belonged. If she couldn't brood, he couldn't either. Such was the dynamic between them -- an ever shifting emotional struggle. It would be terrible thing to say that Clark's suffering somehow negated her own, but there it was. They were, in a manner of speaking, even.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Lana added quietly. "The part where you don't know what's gonna next for them."

She translated Clark's silence as him concurring, before dropping the subject altogether. She had been aware of the tension between Whitney and Clark last year, how the two consistently showed their unspoken machismo around her, how they would have silent pissing contests for her attention. Oh yes, and she paid attention. For God's sake, was that all she had been good for between the two of them? A prize trophy?

"She was pretty." That much Lana could offer. She waited for Clark to turn around before plastering a half-hearted attempt of a smile on her face. An apology.

"I'm gonna take your advice."

There it was. Lana returning to her optimism. She would hope for the best.

So now this all turned into another life lesson given by Lana Lang? Biting his tongue, Clark swore he tasted blood.

"Too bad you never really got to meet her."

Kyla was beautiful in and out, even if it was contrary to Lana's wanted belief. However, this wasn't the time to get huffy about something that was in the past. He turned his head to her, his light eyes staring into her brooding orbs.

"I guess my rambling does help once in a while," Clark went on. "Well, of course, once you push away all the B.S. and get the gist of it."

A smile. Maybe it was a smile that tended to come through your hardest protests, but it was a lightened visage nonetheless. 

Lana shifted her attention off to the side, recalling Kyla's prettiness with little difficulty. What could she say? Clark had good taste in women. Lana returned his smile, placatingly. She knew he meant every good in that statement, knew how important Kyla was to him. Last week, she was almost ready to accept the fact that Clark was going to marry the girl, hook, line, and sinker.

"Yeah..."

Another smile, this time disastrous. She looked ready to lose it again, remembering how slighted she had felt when she had stumbled upon Clark's impromptu makeout session with the newcomer in the Kent's barn. But blunt confessions really weren't their kind of thing, were they?

Lana kept her opinions on Kyla to herself. She liked the girl plainly enough. But then tragedy struck, and she was no longer in the position to say anything slanderous against the dead, no matter if her opinions had been in the negative. And they weren't.

"Can you keep up with Bast?" Lana quipped lightly, nodding over her shoulder at the gentle mare patiently waiting for her by the fence. The hour was growing late, the sullen mood between them growing even longer. She needed to be heading back to the barn by now. Any reason to pull away from this conversation.

Peering past Lana at the mare awaiting her, Clark smiled. More genuine this time and less polished.

"Nobody said I couldn't try."

Arising from his seated position, he politely brushed off the seat of his pants and sauntered towards her. Large, awkward hands found refuge in his jean pockets while the boy hunched forward shyly.

"Glad to know I was of some help to you today. At least...I think."

Still relieved to have gotten off the Kyla subject. Even if he hadn't openly talked about her with anyone, this was not the time to start. Clark felt indifferent about the whole situation. He came here to comfort Lana, yet the tables turned and his own problems surfaced new wounds. But Lana got something out of it, so he fell silent knowing he had accomplished what he came here to do.

The girl, meanwhile, ducked her diminutive figure in between the old, rickety log fence to cross to the other side, but not before making a crack at something curious that she suddenly noticed.

"What are you, Clark, able to leap tall buildings?"

She couldn't help herself. The fence was as tall as him and none of the space between the logs could have ever fit the boy's obviously muscular's frame through. Dismissively, Lana chuckled the joke away.

Bast's rein was untied and collected, then held onto as the young woman fluidly slipped into the saddle. Even then, she was only about a foot or two above Clark at his full height. She paused, holding back the sentiment of the moment that threatened to make her tear up again, and smiled down at him that purely polite, Lana Lang way.

"I haven't had much time to deal with this or share it with anyone, so. Thank you."

Despite the losses they had each shared between them -- and there had been many -- Lana felt a smile tugging at the corners of her lips from the sheer realization that Clark would always be that someone who would sneak up from behind, unbidden, mysteriously though he might approach, to check up on her. The ride back to the barn was slow, unhurried. They talked about everything and nothing, of school and their unfortunate homework assignments both, and somewhere in the middle of the conversation... Lana let it be known that she'd always be there for him in case Clark needed some sneaking up on of his own.

  
  


**THE END**

Well then. How was that? We'd appreciate your comments. :) 


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